The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4)

by James Maxwell

  25

  Deniz led his squadron down the line of enemy ships for the third time, but he knew this time he wouldn’t be as lucky as he had been thus far. The enemy had reduced his fleet down to eight warships, and though he’d sunk too many of the enemy vessels to count, still more targets presented themselves. Bodies filled the ocean, and the smoke of cannon fire and burning ships clouded the sea in a dark haze.

  “Fire!” Deniz cried, and once more the Seekrieger lurched to the side as every gun in her port side fired together.

  An enemy warship fired at the same time, and both ships trembled as they took crippling damage. Bodies and splinters of wood flew into the air on both sides. The Seekrieger shivered, and Deniz felt an immediate heaviness when he tried to keep an even keel steady to the wind, telling him that a hole had opened below the waterline.

  Behind him the clustering Veldrin warships fired their own salvos, but it was ragged now as the loss of men and damage from responding fire took its toll.

  Deniz wondered if he could tack once more and disengage, but then he saw ships flying enemy flags on both sides. He was embroiled, and his ship would soon sink. It would be a fight to the death.

  Ahead of the Seekrieger a brightly-colored warship flew a golden pennant and a red flag with blue crossed swords. The ship was undamaged, and Deniz frowned when he saw a man calling out orders, standing with legs apart on the deck. The commander wore a three-cornered red hat and bellowed instructions to his crew.

  Deniz remembered Beorn’s interrogation of the necromancer. He knew the standard, and he knew who the man was: Farix, the pirate king of Torian.

  The Seekrieger wallowed and groaned as she took on more water.

  “Bladesinger,” Deniz called to the Alturan who stood with one arm on a mast and the other holding a bared sword of shining steel. “It appears you may soon get a chance to use your weapon.”

  The bladesinger turned and nodded. “I am ready.”

  “Grapples!” Deniz called. “Prepare yourselves! We’re going to hold the enemy’s broadside and board her!”

  Deniz could now feel the decks dropping beneath his feet as his ship sunk. But the enemy vessel was close. He fixed his gaze on the man in the three-cornered hat and urged the Seekrieger forward.

  Commodore Deniz thought about his homeland. Better to die on a Veldrin ship than on foreign soil.

  Farix called out an order, and a ragged blast of cannon fire tore into the crippled Seekrieger. Still Deniz’s ship came on, sluggish but moving, on a direct path for the pirate king’s flagship.

  The crackle of musket fire sounded on both sides, and the air filled with whizzing balls. Deniz was now close enough to see the glowing runes on Farix’s neck and hands. Revenants snarled as the Veldrins threw grapples and hauled the two ships together.

  “Make fast!” Deniz cried.

  With a roar Deniz drew his straight sword and led his men forward, the bladesinger at his side. He leapt over the side of the Seekrieger and landed nimbly on the deck of the enemy warship, immediately ducking under the blow of a warrior with mottled skin and a thin line across his throat. Deniz countered and weaved around a second blow before slashing deep into his opponent’s neck, severing the spine so that the head lolled to the side.

  Cannon on both sides continued to fire and muskets cracked. Warriors screamed with swords held high. Limbs were shattered by the flying balls.

  The bladesinger reached the pirate king first. Farix turned white eyes tinged with pink on his new enemy and dropped into a practiced stance. Both swordsmen held blades blazing with the glow of activated runes. In contrast, Deniz’s sword was made of quality steel, but steel was all it was. Deniz now regretted turning down Miro’s offer of an enchanted blade.

  Farix launched a series of blows as the eerie sound of the bladesinger’s song filled the air, audible even over the thunder of muskets and cannon fire. When the zenblade met Farix’s enhanced sword, sparks scattered into the air.

  The bladesinger moved quickly; the zenblade flickered to meet each blow. Searching for his own opportunity, Deniz couldn’t fault a single strike.

  Farix moved faster.

  The two combatants moved in a dance of death, and Deniz could see they were both formidable swordsmen, their skills honed by years of practice. A strike from the pirate king smashed into the bladesinger’s armorsilk but was deflected by the supple material. The bladesinger thrust into the pirate king’s chest, tearing a fist-sized hole at the precise location of his heart.

  But Farix kept going.

  Around Deniz, Veldrin marines and sailors battled revenants while smoke filled the air, making it hard for Deniz to see anything but the bladesinger’s struggle. Timing his attack, Deniz came up behind the pirate king and hacked at a limb, but when his steel sword came forward, Farix simply wasn’t where he’d been a moment ago.

  Another blow from the pirate king struck the bladesinger’s neck. The hood protected him from some of the blow, but a splash of blood dripped down the green material. Deniz struck at the pirate king’s leg, but Farix danced out of the way, and his backswing cut across Deniz’s cheek, opening up a wide gash from his ear to his chin. Deniz narrowly avoided the next blow, rolling out of the way an instant before the pirate king’s blade sliced the air.

  The whirling swords increased speed until they could hardly be seen. Suddenly, the bladesinger was on the ground, gasping. Farix held his sword with both hands and thrust into the Alturan’s mouth. Blood gushed out, and then the bladesinger shuddered and died.

  Deniz roared and launched his own series of blows, ignoring the battle around him, fighting with the skill that had seen him destroy his foes time and again when battling other pirates for the Emir.

  Farix’s enchanted sword flickered out, almost contemptuously, and Deniz felt the burning blade slice across his throat.

  He coughed and pressed his left hand to his neck. Blood spurted out and Deniz suddenly found himself on his knees, head lolling back, eyes looking up at the sky.

  The smoke parted for a moment, and Commodore Deniz saw the blue and brown flag of Veldria, flying tall and proud from the mast of the Seekrieger.

  Deniz pushed himself up onto one knee. He’d lost his sword. Where was it?

  The crumpled body of the bladesinger was just near his feet. The bladesinger’s chant had only just stopped. The zenblade still sparked with red and blue fire.

  Still holding his throat as his life force left his body, Deniz picked up the zenblade. It felt made for his hand.

  Farix had his back to Deniz.

  Holding the zenblade with one hand, the other clutching his throat, Deniz put all of his remaining strength into his strike. At the last moment Farix dodged, as if sensing the coming blow, but Deniz moved with him. The commodore felt the sword meet resistance as it struck the pirate king’s neck.

  In the battle of lore, the zenblade won. Farix’s head came cleanly from his shoulders. The body fell down to the deck.

  Deniz stumbled and then fell back to his knees, and finally onto his back. He once more stared at the sky. This time he only saw clouds.

  He was tired. It was time to sleep.

  26

  High in the sky, winds tossed a solitary dirigible to and fro in unpredictable air currents as the pilot struggled to keep the vessel afloat. A boatlike tub hung under the rune-covered cylinder by wires as the vessel’s two occupants clutched onto the rails with white knuckles.

  Miro had been told it was dangerous to fly so high, but he’d instructed the pilot to take him up anyway. In his heart he knew it was foolish to risk their sole dirigible, not to mention the lives of its occupants, but below, in the deep sea, the brave Veldrins and Buchalanti fought a battle that made the risk pale in comparison.

  He felt a surge of joy as he saw the Veldrins’ first pass, watching the warships shatter the enemy vessels one after the other. As Deniz circled around, Miro saw the Buchalanti charge into the armada from behind, and then a haze of smoke clouded the vista
while he struggled to make sense of the battle.

  “So many,” the pilot whispered. “There are just so many of them.”

  Deniz destroyed more than a dozen ships with his second pass, but this time the enemy was ready for him, and he lost four of his own Veldrin warships. The commodore disengaged, and the Veldrin fleet sped away.

  The Infinity led the point of a wedge deep into the armada. Launching their salvos ahead of them, the Buchalanti smashed ship after ship, and Miro soon realized the black specks in the water were bodies. Every revenant lost to the sea was a revenant he wouldn’t have to face on the beaches.

  Miro saw the Infinity crash into a big black warship.

  Then, on the other side of the armada, Deniz became embroiled in close fighting, smoke clouding the scene as the Veldrins became encircled. Miro’s fists clenched at the dirigible’s rail as he wondered what was happening inside the cloud of gray haze.

  The smoke cleared for an instant, and Miro saw the Seekrieger dangerously engaged, grappled to an enemy flagship. Miro felt his heart race, and he pinched his palms. Then Miro’s heart leapt out of time as he saw the Seekrieger slowly sink into the water.

  “High Lord, I must take us down,” the pilot said.

  “Soon!” Miro barked.

  Fighting at the heart of the armada, the Buchalanti vessels fell to the enemy one after another. Miro saw the Infinity crippled with a battering broadside. A dreadnought took fire and returned with a fierce energy weapon, blasting vessels into halves. Then the dreadnought broke up under a sustained barrage.

  Two Veldrin warships tried to break free of the encirclement, but the enemy shattered them with blasts of cannon. Smoke clouded the air once more, and Miro felt the blood drain from his face as he waited for it to clear.

  The armada burst free from the smoke, leaving their sinking ships behind. Moving inexorably forward, the enemy left the destruction of the naval battle behind.

  It was over.

  “Take us down,” Miro whispered.

  The pilot struggled against the wind and for a moment almost lost control, but he managed to descend, and the passenger tub steadied.

  The pilot turned them back toward Castlemere, and Miro soon saw the harbor come into view.

  “Back behind the defenses,” Miro instructed.

  The dirigible descended and soon hovered over the ground as Miro threw down the ladder. He scurried down and then stood weaving on the ground as the pilot took his vessel back to safety. Miro was shaken.

  “What news?” Beorn rushed up. His expression registered Miro’s white face.

  Miro looked around to make sure he couldn’t be heard.

  “The naval engagement is lost,” Miro said. “The Veldrins and the Buchalanti . . . they’re gone . . . all of them.” He took a deep breath. “We destroyed a great number of enemy ships, perhaps half their force. But it wasn’t enough. The rest will soon be landing.”

  “Miro,” Beorn growled, “pull yourself together. We will mourn them later. Scherlic and Deniz . . . all those who fought . . . we will mourn them. But now is not the time.”

  Miro nodded. He took a deep breath and straightened, aware of his men’s eyes on him. He pulled the mask of the high lord back over his face.

  “You know what has to happen now,” Beorn said, his face grim.

  “I haven’t agreed . . .”

  “Miro,” Beorn interrupted. “Listen to me. There’s no other way. We’ve talked about this. It’s a lord marshal’s duty to speak the truth when it needs to be told, and I’m speaking it now. We must evacuate the last people from the free cities. Then we need to burn them.”

  “How can I tell the leaders of Castlemere and Schalberg we need to destroy their cities?”

  “Let me tell them,” Beorn said. He gripped Miro’s shoulder. “It doesn’t always have to be you, Miro, who must tell the awful truth.”

  “Is there no other way?”

  “You know there isn’t.”

  “Lord of the Sky.” Miro muttered. “What a thing to have to tell someone.”

  “They knew it might come to this,” Beorn said.

  Miro sighed and nodded to Beorn. The two men walked back to the wall, and Miro found a courier.

  “Summon Councilor Marcel of Castlemere and Councilor Lauren of Schalberg,” Miro said.

  He gazed out at the city of Castlemere as he waited. The killing ground extended ahead of him as far as the feeble city walls.

  “Yes, High Lord?” a tall man spoke in a guttural accent. Beside him an attractive woman waited anxiously.

  “Councilors,” Miro said. “The naval engagement is lost. The brave men of Veldria and House Buchalantas took many of the enemy with them, but it is now time to put into action the next part of the plan. You know this is what we agreed to do. Only you can give the order. There is no other option.”

  Beorn opened his mouth, but Miro spoke first. “We must burn Castlemere and Schalberg. We can’t give the enemy an easy harbor or a place to fortify. We need them to land on the beaches. We can’t defend your cities, and we can’t leave them standing.”

  Beorn glanced at Miro and sighed.

  Both Councilors paled. The leaders of the free cities had little experience of war.

  “No,” Councilor Lauren said, shaking her head, “I won’t agree to it.”

  “Listen to me,” Miro said. “Even if we destroyed your docks but left the rest standing, the enemy would still make landing in your harbors and use your buildings as cover. Your cities are perfect targets—we know our enemy is always eager to find more of the living to add to their numbers, and they will have no desire to be exposed on the beaches. Landing is a time of weakness for them and we need to force them out into the open. Burning the cities will create wreckage, ash, and heat—an environment they won’t want to disembark thousands of revenants into. If we can make them land on the beaches, we can hit them while they’re exposed.”

  “We must do this?” Councilor Lauren’s eyes brimmed with tears.

  “We must,” Miro said. “I swear to you, by everything I hold dear, if there were another option I would take it.”

  “I believe you,” said Councilor Marcel. He slowly released a breath, and then nodded. “Give the order. Burn them.”

  The tears now fell from the corners of Councilor Lauren’s eyes. “If we must,” she whispered.

  “I promise you, when this is all over, we will rebuild your cities. I swear to you, that you will always be free.”

  Councilor Marcel led a weeping Councilor Lauren away.

  “You could have let me do that,” Beorn said.

  “The responsibility is mine,” Miro said, “though I appreciate it, I really do. Give the order.”

  Miro wiped a hand over his face as soldiers ran for Castlemere while another group headed further west in the direction of Schalberg.

  “Keep an eye on the coast,” Miro said, “and tell that pilot to keep his dirigible in the sky. We need to know where they plan to land.”

  27

  Bartolo, Dorian, and the five recruits were all exhausted, but they’d cut the journey to the lands of Altura’s south down to days.

  They’d just passed the last signaling tower before Wondhip Pass, seeing the prism shining bright and lustrous. Now the farmland and forests gave way to barren rock, the land gaining a gradual slope as Bartolo stared up at the Elmas, his eye following the winding mountain path that led to the pass. He placed his hands on his knees as he walked uphill, forcing fatigued limbs to continue the harrowing pace.

  Bartolo rested briefly, glancing behind him and scanning the faces of his men. With no time to find others, these youths were all he had. He’d thought he might have to leave some of the recruits behind, but they’d stayed with him, even through the last few grueling, climbing miles. They were fit and well trained, but even so, Bartolo wondered if he’d been wise to bring them. If it came to fighting, the recruits had no armor.

  Bartolo’s gaze returned ahead, and he spotted a ne
arby rise where some boulders clustered to form a hill. He leapt from rock to rock until he was at the summit, before shading his eyes and gazing once more up at the mountain. Hearing movement behind him, he turned and saw Dorian climbing up the rocks to meet him. The young yellow-haired bladesinger moved with grace, and wore his armorsilk like it fitted him, Bartolo noted with approval.

  “What do you think?” Dorian said.

  “Nothing,” said Bartolo. “No light.”

  “Why would Tingarans stop the light at Wondhip Pass? I can understand their motivation in blocking our call to the east, cruel as it is, but to prevent our signal going south? Do they really hate us so much?”

  “I don’t understand it either,” Bartolo said. “After what happened at the bridge, I had to check. And here we are, and there’s no light at the pass.”

  Inwardly, Bartolo seethed. Altura was under attack. His homeland needed him.

  Miro needed the signal to get through.

  “So you think there’ll be four of them, like last time?” Dorian asked.

  “Tapel said that last bunch was waiting for four more men to join them—the ones Jehral met. So, at a guess, I’d say between four and eight.”

  “You think the recruits are up to it?”

  “Eight bandits against us two and five lads who’ve trained at the Pens most of their lives? I can’t see them putting up much of a fight. The last station was guarded by rogues, not warriors,” Bartolo said. “This one shouldn’t be any different.”

  Bartolo stretched, hearing his back crack as the recruits caught up. He felt confident, but a thought kept nagging him.

  Why would these men in the pass, Tingarans, care whether or not Hazarans and Petryans helped Altura?

  Loki had only the barest idea where he was.

  After the shipwreck, he’d taken his surviving draugar and finally found a way up from the beach to the high cliffs above. That was only the beginning of his ordeal, for Loki was confronted by a terrible expanse of desert.

  He knew this must be the Hazara Desert he’d been told about. The storm had turned the ship around before casting it against the shore, but this land could be no other place. He also knew his draugar wouldn’t last long: the Lord of the Night had cooled the air aboard the ships with lore, but the sun here was fierce, and rot would soon take them.